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<title>But it Begins to Rain, You Forgot How Dark it Stains by Beans_With_Jeans</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29482416">But it Begins to Rain, You Forgot How Dark it Stains</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beans_With_Jeans/pseuds/Beans_With_Jeans'>Beans_With_Jeans</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>No Fandom, Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Grief/Mourning, vent fic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 23:00:48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>312</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29482416</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beans_With_Jeans/pseuds/Beans_With_Jeans</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>I’m really missing my dad right now, so I wrote down some of what I feel.</p><p>Title is from Matt and Kim’s ‘Turn This Boat Around’.</p>
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<a name="section0001"><h2>But it Begins to Rain, You Forgot How Dark it Stains</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I love you so much, Dad. Why did you have to go? I miss your laughter, your nicknames, your music, your games, and everything. I miss trying new sushi with you and trying to convince Mom to let us get a dog. I wish you could’ve been here to watch the Chiefs play against the Bucks. The referees called a million flags on us but only two on the other guys. I know you would’ve been pissed. I have the note you wrote me in 5th grade hanging above my bed. I want to get the first words tattooed one day on my arm or something. “Dear JellyBean” and then “Love, Dad” in your handwriting. God, you hated the way I held a pencil. Mother's taken up the mantle of bullying me for it haha. I’m in the gifted program now. Just like you were. I’ve made more friends and I tell them all the stories about you. It’s how I remember. God damnit, I was only ten years old when you died. That’s not enough time to make strong memories. I wish you’d had taken better care of yourself. You were supposed to walk me down the aisle, watch me graduate, fuck, I never even got to come out to you. Would you had supported me? I hope you would’ve. I was always like a son to you anyways. I wanted to be just like you, Dad. I’ve picked up pocket knives and whittling after I found your old ones. Mom hates it. She blames you for my ‘creative destruction’. I’m the only one in the house with your crazy genes, I guess. I know you would’ve supported my wild ideas and dreams. You were always there for me. You always will be. At least, I hope you are. I miss you so godamn much it hurts. </p><p>Bye, Dad.</p><p>-Love, Jellybean</p>
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